by Amy Jarecki
But she did not.
Every man within miles, including Robert Grant, would call him a fool. Dunn could have his choice of all the lassies in the Highlands, even second- or third-born daughters of earls or dukes. But a firstborn daughter of an ambitious peer? A man who didn’t care whom he destroyed on his quest for power and fortune?
Blast it all, his heart had to choose Mairi MacKenzie. For years, Dunn was unable to look twice at her because the maid had been betrothed to Seaforth. For years, he’d pined for her and had been able to do nothing about it. When the window finally opened and he approached her father for permission to court the lass himself, her refusal had cut him deeply.
After the mantel clock chimed the hour, he moved a hand to her shoulder and gently shook. “Lady Mairi? I must give you a tincture now.”
Her eyes flickered open, then closed again. “My throat is burning.”
His heart fluttered. She was still there, fighting the illness inside her. “I ken, mo leannan.” He held a spoon of comfrey tincture to her lips. “This will help.”
When her mouth opened, he poured a spoonful inside.
Her face soured, followed by a cacophony of coughing. “I feel awful,” she wheezed.
“I am ever so sorry, but I aim to set you to rights.” He gave her a teaspoon of willow bark tea, and when she didn’t cough, he gave her another.
She shivered. “I’m so c-cold.”
But her forehead was afire.
“I’ll fetch another blanket.” He found a tartan blanket draped across a chair by the hearth and tucked it around Mairi. “Is that better?”
But she was once again deep in slumber, the chattering of her teeth having subsided. Though a trickle of perspiration streamed down her temple.
Dunn had seen the fever before—many times. The lass might feel chilled, but she needed her flesh to cool. He took a cloth from the washstand, moistened and folded it, and placed the cool weave across her forehead.
She inhaled sharply with a pained expression. But still didn’t wake.
All day and all night, Dunn held vigil, applying damp cloths and feeding Lady Mairi tincture and tea. Lilas had brought food and Mrs. Struan complained that he needed rest, but he would hear none of it. The burden of Her Ladyship’s recuperation was his alone. And she would come through this sickness. He would see to it.
He neglected his fatigue, forcing his eyes to stay open, and every time his head nodded, he splashed water on his face. When the sun rose on the following morn, his chin dropped to his chest and he allowed himself to close his eyes—only for a moment. The poison of fatigue spread through his limbs and forbade him from raising his head. It was like being in his cups without the pleasure. Sleep threatened, and Dunn tried to fight her gripping talons while downward his head fell until it hit the feathery softness of the bed.
* * *
Mairi opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above. She was in a bed, a very cozy bed, but not her own. Pushing the damp cloth from her forehead, she thought back. Where am I?
She’d been fevered—still was a bit. Pain pounded at her temples.
Flashes of memories played through her mind—the clearest being wrapped in fur and riding through a dark forest. But she hadn’t been afraid. Mr. MacRae had her cradled in his arms the whole way. There’d been a boat, a small boat. Somehow, she’d ended up in this chamber with the yellow canopy and bed-curtains embroidered with flowers, feminine décor for certain. Mairi swallowed and drew her hand to her neck. Aye, her illness had started with a sore throat and a cough. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as before.
She raised her head and peered downward. Good heavens, the laird was in a most awkward position. Though seated in a chair, his head rested on the bed, turned so he faced her. Motionless, eyes closed, breathing in a slow cadence, he clearly was sound asleep. “Mr. MacRae?” she asked, her voice barely audible as it grated drily in her throat.
She swept her fingers over his hair to see if he’d rouse. He didn’t move. Heavens, his hair was unusually soft—like a seal pelt. Curious, Mairi threaded her fingers through those thick chestnut locks. “You are beautiful,” she whispered.
The wee gesture sapped her strength. Leaving her fingers full of Dunn’s locks, she closed her eyes against the pounding in her head. How long had she been abed? How long had the big Highlander been holding vigil? Where were they? Eilean Donan?
Most likely.
Opening her eyes once more, she shifted her gaze to Mr. MacRae—Dunn as he’d once asked her to call him. In slumber, his rugged features softened. It was difficult to believe the gentle soul resting on her bed was the champion of the Highlands and most trusted man to the Earl of Seaforth.
The pain eased some. Given how ill she’d been, Mairi should be feeling as if she’d been through the wars, but a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
Had he spoken of love? Or was I dreaming?
“Mr. MacRae?” she tried again. When she was absolutely positive he hadn’t heard a word she’d said, she took a deep breath and swirled her fingers again. “I love you as well. Even if you return my love only in my dreams.”
Chapter Sixteen
Two days later, Mairi’s fever broke for good. Though relieved beyond words, Dunn wouldn’t allow her out of bed. She still had a cough and a sniffle, and until her ailment was completely gone, he refused to take any chances.
He turned the page of the book and started to read aloud, when a knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” he said over his shoulder while Mairi leaned forward and looked to see who had arrived.
Ram strode in looking disheveled and in bad humor. “Forgive me for interrupting, sir. I’ve returned with a message from Robert Grant.”
“At last.” Dunn set the book aside and stood. “Well? Have out with it.”
Thinning his lips, Ram’s gaze shifted toward the bed. “Perhaps it would be best if we moved to the solar.”
“Very well.” Dunn stood and bowed to Her Ladyship. “Please excuse us.” He should have uttered the courtesy m’lady, but he would not do so with anyone present no matter how much he trusted them. His orders stood. The entire staff of Eilean Donan knew to deny that he was in residence. Also, the woman recovering in his mother’s chamber was not the only daughter of the Earl of Cromartie. In fact, the lass didn’t exist. Neither Dunn nor Mairi had been seen since the gathering at Urquhart Castle.
He followed Ram into the solar and sat in his seat at the head of the table. “What news? Has Grant received a reply from my missive to Cromartie?”
“Aye.” Ram shook his head, pulled a letter from inside his doublet, and slid it up the table. “The man is a tyrant.”
Dunn snatched the parchment, unfolded it, and read the most ridiculous summation of drivel he’d ever seen in his life. The earl not only dismissed Dunn’s plea to rescind the price on his head, he’d upped the bounty to one hundred guineas. The blasted fool demanded the immediate return of his daughter, at which time Dunn was expected to turn himself in and face grave discipline. The letter ranted about Dunn’s sworn duty to Clan MacKenzie, which included not only the House of Seaforth, but the equally important House of Cromartie and, if anything untoward happened to Lady Mairi while in the MacRae chieftain’s care, Dunn would be held accountable.
“Jesus Saint Christopher Christ.” His blood boiled while he slapped the missive on the table. “Does anyone in all the Highlands actually believe I absconded with Cromartie’s daughter? Did they not see the dead guards in the forest? Good God, a child of five might have pieced together the clues. And if it hadn’t been for me, the lass would be ruined and quite possibly dead!”
“We all ken your innocence. As you said, the evidence was clear.” Ram sliced his hand through the air. “And when Seaforth vouched for you, Cromartie would have none of it.”
Dunn slapped the missive, making a resounding bang. “One hundred paltry guineas for my head? He believes me worth so little? I’d like to show Cromartie the extent of
my bloody worth.”
“Given the drivel in that letter, I believe you have an unmitigated right to march the MacRae army against him.”
“If only he weren’t Seaforth’s uncle, I’d not hesitate.” Dunn drummed his fingers. “I am not admitting the woman in the matron’s chamber is Lady Mairi, but it is my duty to see the lass safely home—without putting my neck in a noose.”
“Jesu.” Ram shoved his chair back and pushed the heels of his palms into his temples. “The bastard has his daggers at your flanks.”
“Nay. No one stabs me in the back.” Dunn fetched an inkwell, quill, and parchment from the cupboard. “I want you to take a missive to Seaforth.”
“Aye? That might take some time.” Ram cringed. “Word is His Lordship is off to Coxhoe House in the north of England.”
Jesu, must everything be impossibly difficult? Dunn furiously scribed a letter explaining all that had transpired, excluding Lady Mairi’s illness—besides, she was coming good. He made it perfectly clear that Lady Mairi was well protected with her virtue intact and he’d attempted to return her home only to be chased by a mob of dragoons intent on collecting the bounty placed on his head by Her Ladyship’s father.
Once content he’d aptly described the absurdity of Cromartie’s demands, he implored Seaforth to reason with his great-uncle to enable Dunn to safely return his daughter home. He would not surrender to arrest, he would not be penalized, and he would not tolerate having his good name smeared throughout the Highlands.
“So, this is how I am repaid for performing my duty.” He shook his head, and folded the missive. Holding a wax wafer to a candle, Dunn dripped a blob and applied his seal. “Take this to His Lordship. Show it to no one else. And if you must travel all the way to London to find him, do so forthwith.”
“Aye, sir.”
Dunn stood as he watched Ram leave. Damnation, he could not sit idle and bide his time, especially with Seaforth in England. Given favorable wind, it would take at least a fortnight for Ram to sail south and return, and most likely longer. Dunn must do everything in his power to strengthen his fortress. Furthermore, he sensed the lady in the matron’s chamber mightn’t be as averse to him as her father had made out.
Can I win Lady Mairi’s heart? God bless it, I aim to show her I am not the boorish oaf she thinks me to be.
* * *
Mairi pushed the needle into the linen and pulled the thread through the other side. She’d tolerated about as much of being bedridden as a lass could stand. Mr. MacRae had treated her like a queen, too much so.
“’Tis a fine day outside,” said Lilas, opening the window.
“Truly?” Mairi took in a deep breath of fresh air. “What I wouldn’t do for a turn around the wall-walk.”
“Aye, you haven’t coughed since I came in. I reckon the laird will give you leave to rise from your bed soon.”
“I am completely healed.” She set her embroidery aside and pushed away the bedclothes. “And I will begin by dressing. Please help me don my stays and kirtle.”
“But, miss—”
“I would thank you to help me now, Lilas, without the preamble.” Mairi’s hackles stood on end. On one hand, it was fun not to be referred to as “my lady,” but on the other, she was accustomed to having her requests carried through without being questioned. At Castle Leod, if she asked Aela to help her dress, it would be done with efficiency.
Sighing, Lilas set her duster down and gathered Mairi’s garments from the back of the chair where they’d been neatly folded. “Straightaway, miss.”
That was better. Mairi smiled. At last someone listened to her without checking with the laird first. “Thank you,” she said as Lilas tied her stays in place. “’Tis time for me to regain my strength, and I cannot do that whilst lying in bed.”
“Agreed, m’l—um—miss.”
It was hard not to laugh aloud. Lilas and Mrs. Struan had tried very hard to pretend Mairi was not the daughter of an earl.
Lilas held up the kirtle. “Over your head or step in?”
“Over my head.” Mairi held up her arms and on went the gown. While the lady’s maid smoothed the skirts, a clang resounded outside. Mairi hastened to the window and leaned out. “Oh my, it looks as if Mr. MacRae is sparring with a guardsman.”
Lilas pushed in. “’Tis Curran, and have a look at that. No shirts.” Patting her chest, the lass giggled.
“You did say the day was fine. I reckon the present view just improved on the weather.” Mairi fanned her face, and not because she was overwarm. Good heavens, even from three stories up, Dunn looked magnificent, his muscles rippled beneath glistening skin—powerful shoulders, his sculpted back tapering to a sturdy waist.
“Mm…” And Lilas seemed to think so, too.
Mairi scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I can see why he’s champion of the Highlands.”
“Aye, but Curran is every bit as formidable.”
“Curran?” Mairi glanced at the maid. She was completely rapt. “Do you fancy him?”
The lass blushed scarlet. “Me and all the lassies within twenty miles.”
“Is that so? Why not the laird?”
“Och, Duncan MacRae is a man to be admired for certain, but a lass like me ought never dream of marrying him. Nay, the laird will marry a woman of great prominence.”
“Hmm.” Mairi didn’t care much to continue a discussion about whom Dunn would marry. She much preferred to watch the battle down below. Inches taller, Mr. MacRae advanced, swinging his sword in his right hand and brandishing a targe in his left. Curran struggled to deflect Dunn’s savage blows. Mairi’s heartbeat raced when their cross guards met. As they bared their teeth, the opposing power between them was palpable as each man struggled to gain the upper hand. With a bellow, Dunn broke away, spinning outward. The two men circled, weapons held high, awaiting the next strike. Curran lunged. Dunn scooted aside, and the clanging swordplay resumed yet again.
“He’s incredibly bonny,” Lilas said.
Mairi blinked, as if snapping from a trance. “There are no words,” she sighed.
“And faster than a fox.”
“Like lightning.”
A sword clattered to the cobblestones. Both women leaned through the window and watched Curran retrieve it, and then he waved—at Lilas, of course.
Dunn pointed his weapon at Mairi. “Why are you out of bed?”
“Because I am well, sir, and if you do not escort me for a stroll, I will have no recourse but to escape from this chamber and enjoy the day on my own.”
His expression grew dark as he sheathed his sword and marched for the keep.
“Oh, dear,” said Lilas. “I do believe he is cross.”
“Mr. MacRae? Cross?” Mairi giggled. “When is he not?”
It all seemed amusing until the chamber door burst open.
“Miss Lilas, you are dismissed,” Dunn barked, his stare boring through Mairi like an auger.
As the lass hastened out the door, Mairi stopped paying attention to the laird’s eyes. Neither did she fret about being barefoot. At least she was respectably clad for the first time in days. Only one thing consumed her mind. Good heavens. She stared at the bare chest heaving from exertion—the enormous male chest, peppered with chestnut curls. A chest as powerful as a horse, and an abdomen ripped with delicious muscles. She splayed her fingers. What would it be like to touch him? His nipples were tight and erect, begging her to step forward and swirl her fingers over them. Did men have nipples sensitive to the touch? Mairi’s certainly were tender.
He sauntered toward her, his gaze hard and unblinking. “So, you think you are well enough to leave your chamber?”
“I do.” She raised her chin, determined not to allow him to frighten her into backing away. “I am no invalid.”
“But it has only been a day since your cough subsided.”
“And you told me that once it was gone, you would accompany me on a walk.”
He pursed his lips and jammed his hand
s into his hips. “Och, ye ken we must exercise caution. And I intend to have you returned to pristine health when I accompany you to Castle Leod.”
“But it might be ages afore Ram arrives with Seaforth. Did you not say the earl is in England?”
“The north of England, aye.”
She licked her lips and stepped closer. Presently, her yen to take a stroll was trumped by a desire of a completely different nature, heaven help her. Mairi’s mind clicked—what had he said when she was abed and fevered? Yes, she remembered clearly now. He had spoken of love. More than once he’d said how much she had hurt him and, every time, remorse crept up her spine. Well, no more.
“But I thought you didn’t want people to ken you are here, either,” she said, blinking her eyes and keeping her voice low.
“No one aside from the castle staff.”
“See? We both must remain cautious.” She stared at his chest, glistening and heaving with his breaths, while her knees turned wobbly.
“Do you mean to tell me what I can and cannot do?” Mairi took one more step. He smelled of freshly oiled leather and musk. Had Lilas tied her stays too tight? No!
“Forgive me, but when you venture out, m’lady, I must go as well.”
“And you think that is fair?” she challenged.
“Of course ’tis not fair. I have a great deal of responsibility, and I shall not be cosseted within the walls of my own keep.”
Unable to resist, she placed her palm on his chest and boldly eyed him. “Are your duties more important than me, Dunn?” Calling him by the familiar name made gooseflesh rise across her skin.
He drew in a sharp gasp as if he felt it, too. Staring at her face, his eyes smoldered with intensity and filled with the same yearning that churned through Mairi’s breast. Not a word was said while his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Kiss me.
His hand moved to her waist and rested there. Connected by the tension in the air between them, he uttered nothing, staring with a myriad of emotions swirling in those deep pools of midnight blue. But Mairi had come to know this man like no other. No, the smoldering look in his eyes was not anger. Dunn continuously battled with the storm raging within him. He was a good man, a great man with enormous responsibilities—obligations that prevented him from acting on impulse and forced him to withhold his opinions.
